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Title: The White Old Maid (From "Twice Told Tales")

Author: Nathaniel Hawthorne

Release Date: Nov, 2005  [EBook #9214]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on August 31, 2003]


Edition: 10

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE WHITE OLD MAID ***




This eBook was produced by David Widger  [widger@cecomet.net]





                        TWICE TOLD TALES

                       THE WHITE OLD MAID

                     By Nathaniel Hawthorne



The moonbeams came through two deep and narrow windows, and showed a
spacious chamber, richly furnished in an antique fashion.  From one
lattice, the shadow of the diamond panes was thrown upon the floor;
the ghostly light, through the other, slept upon a bed, falling
between the heavy silken curtains, and illuminating the face of a
young man.  But, how quietly the slumberer lay! how pale his features!
and how like a shroud the sheet was wound about his frame!  Yes; it
was a corpse, in its burial-clothes.

Suddenly, the fixed features seemed to move, with dark emotion.
Strange fantasy!  It was but the shadow of the fringed curtain, waving
betwixt the dead face and the moonlight, as the door of the chamber
opened, and a girl stole softly to the bedside.  Was there delusion in
the moonbeams, or did her gesture and her eye betray a gleam of
triumph, as she bent over the pale corpse-pale as itself--and pressed
her living lips to the cold ones of the dead?  As she drew back from
that long kiss, her features writhed, as if a proud heart were
fighting with its anguish. Again it seemed that the features of the
corpse had moved responsive to her own.  Still an illusion!  The
silken curtain had waved, a second time, betwixt the dead face and the
moonlight, as another fair young girl unclosed the door, and glided,
ghost-like, to the bedside.  There the two maidens stood, both
beautiful, with the pale beauty of the dead between them. But she, who
had first entered, was proud and stately; and the other, a soft and
fragile thing.

"Away!" cried the lofty one.   "Thou hadst him living!  The dead is
mine!"

"Thine!" returned the other, shuddering.   "Well hast thou spoken!
The dead is thine!"

The proud girl started, and stared into her face, with a ghastly look.
But a wild and mournful expression passed across the features of the
gentle one; and, weak and helpless, she sank down on the bed, her head
pillowed beside that of the corpse, and her hair mingling with his
dark locks.  A creature of hope and joy, the first draught of sorrow
had bewildered her.

"Edith!" cried her rival.

Edith groaned, as with a sudden compression of the heart; and removing
her cheek from the dead youth's pillow, she stood upright, fearfully
encountering the eyes of the lofty girl.

"Wilt thou betray me?" said the latter, calmly.

"Till the dead bid me speak, I will be silent," answered Edith. "Leave
us alone together!  Go, and live many years, and then return, and tell
me of thy life.  He, too, will be here!  Then, if thou tellest of
sufferings more than death, we will both forgive thee."

"And what shall be the token?" asked the proud girl, as if her heart
acknowledged a meaning in these wild words.

"This lock of hair," said Edith, lifting one of the dark, clustering
curls, that lay heavily on the dead man's brow.

The two maidens joined their hands over the bosom of the corpse, and
appointed a day and hour, far, far in time to come, for their next
meeting in that chamber.  The statelier girl gave one deep look at the
motionless countenance, and departed,--yet turned again and trembled,
ere she closed the door, almost believing that her dead lover frowned
upon her.  And Edith, too!  Was not her white form fading into the
moonlight?  Scorning her own weakness, she went forth, and perceived
that a negro slave was waiting in the passage, with a wax light, which
he held between her face and his own, and regarded her, as she
thought, with an ugly expression of merriment.  Lifting his torch on
high, the slave lighted her down the staircase, and undid the portal
of the mansion.  The young clergyman of the town had just ascended the
steps, and bowing to the lady, passed in without a word.


Years, many years rolled on; the world seemed new again, so much older
was it grown, since the night when those pale girls had clasped their
hands across the bosom of the corpse.  In the interval, a lonely woman
had passed from youth to extreme age, and was known by all the town,
as the  "Old Maid in the Winding-Sheet."  A taint of insanity had
affected her whole life, but so quiet, sad, and gentle, so utterly
free from violence, that she was suffered to pursue her harmless
fantasies, unmolested by the world, with whose business or pleasures
she had naught to do.  She dwelt alone, and never came into the
daylight, except to follow funerals.  Whenever a corpse was borne
along the street, in sunshine, rain, or snow, whether a pompous train,
of the rich and proud, thronged after it, or few and humble were the
mourners, behind them came the lonely woman, in a long, white garment,
which the people called her shroud.  She took no place among the
kindred or the friends, but stood at the door to hear the funeral
prayer, and walked in the rear of the procession, as one whose earthly
charge it was to haunt the house of mourning, and be the shadow of
affliction, and see that the dead were duly buried.  So long had this
been her custom, that the inhabitants of the town deemed her a part of
every funeral, as much as the coffin pall, or the very corpse itself,
and augured ill of the sinner's destiny, unless the  "Old Maid in the
Winding-Sheet" came gliding, like a ghost, behind.  Once, it is said,
she affrighted a bridal party, with her pale presence, appearing
suddenly in the illuminated hall, just as the priest was uniting a
false maid to a wealthy man, before her lover had been dead a year.
Evil was the omen to that marriage!  Sometimes she stole forth by
moonlight, and visited the graves of venerable Integrity, and wedded
Love, and virgin Innocence, and every spot where the ashes of a kind
and faithful heart were mouldering. Over the hillocks of those favored
dead would she stretch out her arms, with a gesture, as if she were
scattering seeds; and many believed that she brought them from the
garden of Paradise; for the graves, which she had visited, were green
beneath the snow, and covered with sweet flowers from April to
November.  Her blessing was better than a holy verse upon the
tombstone.  Thus wore away her long, sad, peaceful, and fantastic
life, till few were so old as she, and the people of later generations
wondered how the dead had ever been buried, or mourners had endured
their grief, without the  "Old Maid in the Winding Sheet."

Still, years went on, and still she followed funerals, and was not yet
summoned to her own festival of death.  One afternoon, the great
street of the town was all alive with business and bustle, though the
sun now gilded only the upper half of the church-spire, having left
the housetops and loftiest trees in shadow.  The scene was cheerful
and animated, in spite of the sombre shade between the high brick
buildings.  Here were pompous merchants, in white wigs and laced
velvet; the bronzed faces of sea-captains; the foreign garb and air of
Spanish creoles; and the disdainful port of natives of Old England;
all contrasted with the rough aspect of one or two hack settlers,
negotiating sales of timber, from forests where axe had never sounded.
Sometimes a lady passed, swelling roundly forth in an embroidered
petticoat, balancing her steps in high-heeled shoes, and courtesying,
with lofty grace, to the punctilious obeisances of the gentlemen.  The
life of the town seemed to have its very centre not far from an old
mansion, that stood somewhat back from the pavement, surrounded by
neglected grass, with a strange air of loneliness, rather deepened
than dispelled by the throng so near it.  Its site would have been
suitably occupied by a magnificent Exchange, or a brick block,
lettered all over with various signs; or the large house itself might
have made a noble tavern, with the  "King's Arms" swinging before it,
and guests in every chamber, instead of the present solitude.  But,
owing to some dispute about the right of inheritance, the mansion had
been long without a tenant, decaying from year to year, and throwing
the stately gloom of its shadow over the busiest part of the town.
Such was the scene, and such the time, when a figure, unlike any that
have been described, was observed at a distance down the street.

"I espy a strange sail, yonder," remarked a Liverpool captain; "that
woman in the long, white garment!"

The sailor seemed much struck by the object, as were several others,
who, at the same moment, caught a glimpse of the figure that had
attracted his notice.  Almost immediately, the various topics of
conversation gave place to speculations, in an undertone, on this
unwonted occurrence.

"Can there be a funeral, so late this afternoon?"  inquired some.

They looked for the signs of death at every door,--the sexton, the
hearse, the assemblage of black-clad relatives,--all that makes up the
woful pomp of funerals.  They raised their eyes, also, to the sun-gilt
spire of the church, and wondered that no clang proceeded from its
bell, which had always tolled till now, when this figure appeared in
the light of day.  But none had heard that a corpse was to be borne to
its home that afternoon, nor was there any token of a funeral, except
the apparition of the "Old Maid in the Winding-Sheet."

"What may this portend?" asked each man of his neighbor.

All smiled as they put the question, yet with a certain trouble in
their eyes, as if pestilence, or some other wide calamity, were
prognosticated by the untimely intrusion among the living, of one
whose presence had always been associated with death and woe.  What a
comet is to the earth, was that sad woman to the town.  Still she
moved on, while the hum of surprise was hushed at her approach, and
the proud and the humble stood aside, that her white garment might not
wave against them.  It was a long, loose robe, of spotless purity.
Its wearer appeared very old, pale, emaciated, and feeble, yet glided
onward, without the unsteady pace of extreme age.  At one point of her
course, a littly rosy boy burst forth from a door, and ran, with open
arms, towards the ghostly woman, seeming to expect a kiss from her
bloodless lips.  She made a slight pause, fixing her eye upon him with
an expression of no earthly sweetness, so that the child shivered and
stood awe-struck, rather than affrighted, while the Old Maid passed
on.  Perhaps her garment might have been polluted even by an infant's
touch; perhaps her kiss would have been death to the sweet boy, within
a year.

"She is but a shadow," whispered the superstitious.   "The child put
forth his arms and could not grasp her robe!"

The wonder was increased, when the Old Maid passed beneath the porch
of the deserted mansion, ascended the moss-covered steps, lifted the
iron knocker, and gave three raps.  The people could only conjecture,
that some old remembrance, troubling her bewildered brain, had
impelled the poor woman hither to visit the friends of her youth; all
gone from their home, long since and forever, unless their ghosts
still haunted it,--fit company for the  "Old Maid in the Winding-
Sheet."  An elderly man approached the steps, and reverently
uncovering his gray locks, essayed to explain the matter.

"None, Madam," said he, "have dwelt in this house these fifteen years
agone,--no, not since the death of old Colonel Fenwicke, whose funeral
you may remember to have followed.  His heirs being ill-agreed among
themselves, have let the mansion-house go to ruin."

The Old Maid looked slowly round, with a slight gesture of one hand,
and a finger of the other upon her lip, appearing more shadow-like
than ever, in the obscurity of the porch.  But again she lifted the
hamnmer, and gave, this time, a single rap.  Could it be that a
footstep was now heard, coming down the staircase of the old mansion,
which all conceived to have been so long untenanted?  Slowly, feebly,
yet heavily, like the pace of an aged and infirm person, the step
approached, more distinct on every downward stair, till it reached the
portal.  The bar fell on the inside; the door was opened.  One upward
glance, towards the church-spire, whence the sunshine had just faded,
was the last that the people saw of the "Old Maid in the Winding-
Sheet."

"Who undid the door?" asked many.

This question, owing to the depth of shadow beneath the porch, no one
could satisfactorily answer.  Two or three aged men, while protesting
against an inference, which might be drawn, affirmed that the person
within was a negro, and bore a singular resemblance to old Caesar,
formerly a slave in the house, but freed by death some thirty years
before.

"Her summons has waked up a servant of the old family," said one, half
seriously.

"Let us wait here," replied another.   "More guests will knock at the
door, anon.  But the gate of the graveyard should be thrown open!"

Twilight had overspread the town, before the crowd began to separate,
or the comments on this incident were exhausted.  One after another
was wending his way homeward, when a coach--no common spectacle in
those days--drove slowly into the street.  It was an old-fashioned
equipage, hanging close to the ground, with arms on the panels, a
footman behind, and a grave, corpulent coachman seated high in front,
--the whole giving an idea of solemn state and dignity.  There was
something awful, in the heavy rumbling of the wheels.  The coach
rolled down the street, till, coming to the gateway of the deserted
mansion, it drew up, and the footman sprang to the ground.

"Whose grand coach is this?" asked a very inquisitive body.

The footman made no reply, but ascended the steps of the old house,
gave three raps with the iron hammer, and returned to open the coach-
door.  An old man possessed of the heraldic lore so common in that day
examined the shield of arms on the panel.

"Azure, a lion's head erased, between three flower-deluces," said he;
then whispered the name of the family to whom these bearings belonged.
The last inheritor of its honors was recently dead, after a long
residence amid the splendor of the British court, where his birth and
wealth had given him no mean station.  "He left no child," continued
the herald, "and these arms, being in a lozenge, betoken that the
coach appertains to his widow."

Further disclosures, perhaps, might have been made, had not the
speaker suddenly been struck dumb, by the stern eye of an ancient
lady, who thrust forth her head from the coach, preparing to descend.
As she emerged, the people saw that her dress was magnificent, and her
figure dignified, in spite of age and infirmity,--a stately ruin, but
with a look, at once, of pride and wretchedness.  Her strong and rigid
features had an awe about them, unlike that of the white Old Maid, but
as of something evil.  She passed up the steps, leaning on a gold-
headed cane; the door swung open, as she ascended,--and the light of a
torch glittered on the embroidery of her dress, and gleamed on the
pillars of the porch.  After a momentary pause--a glance backwards--
and then a desperate effort--she went in.  The decipherer of the coat
of arms had ventured up the lowest step, and shrinking back
immediately, pale and tremulous, affirmed that the torch was held by
the very image of old Caesar.

"But, such a hideous grin," added he, "was never seen on the face of
mortal man, black or white!  It will haunt me till my dying day."

Meantime, the coach had wheeled round, with a prodigious clatter on
the pavement, and rumbled up the street, disappearing in the twilight,
while the ear still tracked its course.  Scarcely was it gone, when
the people began to question whether the coach and attendants, the
ancient lady, the spectre of old Caesar, and the Old Maid herself,
were not all a strangely combined delusion, with some dark purport in
its mystery.  The whole town was astir, so that, instead of
dispersing, the crowd continually increased, and stood gazing up at
the windows of the mansion, now silvered by the brightening moon.  The
elders, glad to indulge the narrative propensity of age, told of the
long-faded splendor of the family, the entertainments they had given,
and the guests, the greatest of the land, and even titled and noble
ones from abroad, who had passed beneath that portal.  These graphic
reminiscences seemed to call up the ghosts of those to whom they
referred.  So strong was the impression, on some of the more
imaginative hearers, that two or three were seized with trembling
fits, at one and the same moment, protesting that they had distinctly
heard three other raps of the iron knocker.

"Impossible!" exclaimed others.   "See!  The moon shines beneath the
porch, and shows every part of it, except in the narrow shade of that
pillar.  There is no one there!"

"Did not the door open?"  whispered one of these fanciful persons.

"Didst thou see it, too?" said his companion, in a startled tone.

But the general sentiment was opposed to the idea, that a third
visitant had made application at the door of the deserted house. A
few, however, adhered to this new marvel, and even declared that a red
gleam, like that of a torch, had shone through the great front window,
as if the negro were lighting a guest up the staircase.  This, too,
was pronounced a mere fantasy.  But, at once, the whole multitude
started, and each man beheld his own terror painted in the faces of
all the rest.

"What an awful thing is this!" cried they.

A shriek, too fearfully distinct for doubt, had been heard within the
mansion, breaking forth suddenly, and succeeded by a deep stillness,
as if a heart had burst in giving it utterance.  The people knew not
whether to fly from the very sight of the house, or to rush trembling
in, and search out the strange mystery. Amid their confusion and
affright, they were somewhat reassured by the appearance of their
clergyman, a venerable patriarch, and equally a saint, who had taught
them and their fathers the way to heaven, for more than the space of
an ordinary lifetime.  He was a reverend figure, with long, white hair
upon his shoulders, a white beard upon his breast, and a back so bent
over his staff, that he seemed to be looking downward, continually, as
if to choose a proper grave for his weary frame.  It was some time
before the good old man, being deaf, and of impaired intellect, could
be made to comprehend such portions of the affair as were
comprehensible at all.  But, when possessed of the facts, his energies
assumed unexpected vigor.

"Verily," said the old gentleman, "it will be fitting that I enter the
mansion-house of the worthy Colonel Fenwicke, lest any harm should
have befallen that true Christian woman, whom ye call the 'Old Maid in
the Winding-Sheet.'"

Behold, then, the venerable clergyman ascending the steps of the
mansion, with a torch-bearer behind him.  It was the elderly man, who
had spoken to the Old Maid, and the same who had afterwards explained
the shield of arms, and recognized the features of the negro.  Like
their predecessors, they gave three raps, with the iron hammer.

"Old Caesar cometh not," observed the priest.  "Well, I wot, he no
longer doth service in this mansion."

"Assuredly, then, it was something worse, in old Caesar's likeness!"
said the other adventurer.

"Be it as God wills," answered the clergyman.  "See! my strength,
though it be much decayed, hath sufficed to open this heavy door. Let
us enter, and pass up the staircase."

Here occurred a singular exemplification of the dreamy state of a very
old man's mind.  As they ascended the wide flight of stairs, the aged
clergyman appeared to move with caution, occasionally standing aside,
and oftener bending his head, as it were in salutation, thus
practising all the gestures of one who makes his way through a throng.
Reaching the head of the staircase, he looked around, with sad and
solemn benignity, laid aside his staff, bared his hoary locks, and was
evidently on the point of commencing a prayer.

"Reverend Sir," said his attendant, who conceived this a very suitable
prelude to their further search, "would it not be well, that the
people join with us in prayer?"

"Well-a-day!" cried the old clergyman, staring strangely around him.
"Art thou here with me, and none other?  Verily, past times were
present to me, and I deemed that I was to make a funeral prayer, as
many a time heretofore, from the head of this staircase.

"Of a truth, I saw the shades of many that are gone.  Yea, I have
prayed at their burials, one after another, and the 'Old Maid in the
Winding-Sheet' hath seen them to their graves!"

Being now more thoroughly awake to their present purpose, he took his
staff, and struck forcibly on the floor, till there came an echo from
each deserted chamber, but no menial, to answer their summons.  They
therefore walked along the passage, and again paused, opposite to the
great front window, through which was seen the crowd, in the shadow
and partial moonlight of the street beneath.  On their right hand was
the open door of a chamber, and a closed one on their left.  The
clergyman pointed his cane to the carved oak panel of the latter.

"Within that chamber," observed he, "a whole lifetime since, did I sit
by the death-bed of a goodly young man, who, being now at the last
gasp--"

Apparently, there was some powerful excitement in the ideas which had
now flashed across his mind.  He snatched the torch from his
companion's hand, and threw open the door with such sudden violence,
that the flame was extinguished, leaving them no other light than the
moonbeams, which fell through two windows into the spacious chamber.
It was sufficient to discover all that could be known.  In a high-
hacked oaken arm-chair, upright, with her hands clasped across her
breast, and her head thrown back, sat the  "Old Maid in the Winding-
Sheet."  The stately dame had fallen on her knees, with her forehead
on the holy knees of the Old Maid, one hand upon the floor, and the
other pressed convulsively against her heart.  It clutched a lock of
hair, once sable, now discolored with a greenish mould.  As the priest
and layman advanced into the chamber, the Old Maid's features assumed
such a resemblance of shifting expression, that they trusted to hear
the whole mystery explained, by a single word.  But it was only the
shadow of a tattered curtain, waving betwixt the dead face and the
moonlight.

"Both dead!" said the venerable man.  "Then who shall divulge the
secret?  Methinks it glimmers to and fro in my mind, like the light
and shadow across the Old Maid's face.  And now't is gone!"





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